My hand—are you going to hold it again?
Looks like I'm dumber than you think.
Wanting you to cling to me
like I am an economic power
and you the poorest of nations
seeking forgiveness of your debts.
You left a platter of fish under the chin of a cat
the first time you took
my hungry digits in your calloused palm.
What an attractive man, I thought.
I have hardly any memory of the man
who thought that. When I try to find him
all I see are yellow flowers shaking, as if we
were playing hide and seek in a barley field.